Cure for the sickest
by VerrucktTeufel
Summary: (yes, it's probably been done before, but mines better!) A cure is being developed for the Jokers "condition"...will it work? and if it does...does this mean the end for the Jokers reign of terror? R&R!
1. Default Chapter

Whooo!!! Dis is gonna be fun, I can tell ya that for sure! I'm quite proud of this lil'number, yesser! I hope you guys enjoy (I know I did writing it)

Anywho….I dun own Batman or anything associated with him.

Now, ON WIT DAH SHOW!!!

…………………………………………………..

It was unnervingly silent outside that night, that night the cold winds of fate blew through the spidery branches that licked the barred windows of the freak show house. The home to the damned, to the cursed, to the spiteful; Arkham Asylum, home to the criminally insane…a few flickering lights sputtered within the cold concrete walls of the asylum, a few night owls going over and over papers and reports, alterations in cells (for the gala criminals, those who dressed as though going to a costume party, seemed to always find a way out). This night, a revelation would be made, one heard of and hoped for but never made permanent, a dream for the lulling citizens of Gotham that has before only seen as a nightmare….

A cure for the sickest man...

….

It was just another sleepless night at Arkham for Dr. Breck, recent college graduate and Pharmacogenetics specialists. He had studied Psychology in college, just to broaden his horizons a tad…turned out he liked it…a lot, along with the theory's and results adding prescriptions to the psychoanalysis of patients and watching how quickly, effectively and beneficial the results were. Thus, he devoted his life to curing the sick of mind…but enough of that:

Breck was going over the special ward's files, doing analyses, theories, second thoughts and chances on all the creatures in this extension of hell on the far corner of the world. Hope rang soundlessly in this endless nightmare brought to life, with its halls filled with the howling of the lost and the laughter of the damned. Laughter….that reminded him…

Putting aside his Dent file (split personalities, always good for further analyses), and reached deep into the lower drawer in his desk to pull out a large steel box, (a 2 lb no doubt). The box wasn't that old, but the continuation of opening and closing and locking had worn away the hinges and gave them a slight squeak, also the constant fondling from different personnel had caused some hand-grease to muck up the steal, giving it a slightly eerie 'horror movie prop' look. Just holding the box could send a chill up a grown man's spine…unless, of course, you worked here, Dr. Breck chuckled dryly to himself.

A personnel had carved the word 'Joker' into the front of the box, as a sort of dark gag to the rest of the staff, along with 'the eternal resident'. It rang true, but it wasn't funny…not at all; Breck took the key that was taped onto the backside of the box and unlocked it. Inside, it appeared more like a DVD box set than a criminal file: a file containing all the jokers crimes, his family (if any), and 'attributes where tucked in an interior leather slip on the left side, dates in and dates out/schedule/and number below in another slip; photos were on the other side in a small plastic baseball casing, and lastly his condition, his psychosis and treatments were kept in a folder pinned onto the right.

Breck removed the folder from the box and opened it. It appeared, that while staying at Arkham, the Joker could be regarded as a regular pharmacy: mood stimulators, depressants, tranquilizers twice before 'nights out', and then med's that kept his nights dreamless to prevent night-terrors (seemed he was prone to those…ironic), and the like. This was perfect, it was all here…he was ready for them tomorrow…

…

"…And gentlemen, ladies of the faculty, this concludes my proposal! As you can see, it's quite reasonable and, most likely, less costly". Breck sat down in his chair, twiddling his thumbs beneath the circular table. Across the room, he could see the head chairman rubbing his chin, then adjusting his glasses. The faculty around him just sat, their eyes fixated on nothing, perhaps just enjoying the unexpected, blissful silence of the asylum…no matter how unnerving it was.

"Let me see if I can truly understand this, Mr. Breck: you want us to allow YOU complete and utter freedom on cell mate #0801, the 'joker', in the act of chemically rehabilitating him? With the use of any or all the asylums equipment and EVEN issuing a request form for a grant on the matter?!," The Head slapped his hand on the table, causing the rest of the staff to jolt out of their dazes.

"Well…perhaps…but with a tad more enthusiasm. I believe I can save what is left of Mr. Napier's mind…just look at this file! All we've been doing for the past few years is pumping him full of more mind-bending drugs! We're not helping him any by giving him a few over –the-counter pills! This man needs special attention, not just lullaby's to make him feel all nice inside! Please, just let me allow the use of the clinic's equipment and perhaps the help of Wayne enterprises, I'm sure Mr. Wayne would help fund this! Just think…a Gotham with no Joker, it would be like a ray of light on this doomed city."

All eyes in the room shifted to the head. His eyes calmed, like a break in a stormy sea…Breck knew he had hit a sentimental nerve with the head, who felt just the same way about Gotham as he did. The head let out a deep sigh, then readjusted his glasses again before looking Breck in the eyes again.

"Fine…but if we lose more money than we are already, im pulling the plug on this…God I cant believe im letting this happen…curing the Joker is like pushing pins into concrete," and with that, he and the rest of the staff departed.

….

Later that day in the cafeteria, the inmates were being driven into the urine-yellow room like cattle being prodded out of the field. Special cases on one side, temps on the other (to prevent the temps from being 'infected' as the staff liked to call it), after receiving his vegetable stew and grilled chicken sandwich, Mr. Nigma went to go and sit with Isley, Quinn, Dent, and Cobblepot, all (whom like himself), questioned whether or not the meat within the sandwich was actually "chicken".

"Can you believe this? I'm not crazy enough to eat this crap!" Ms. Quinn protested while shoving it off the side of the table and onto the floor, where eager little cockroaches instantly swarmed to take advantage of the disregarded food, "Yeck, like I said, not crazy enough!"

Cobblepot let a sly smirk creep underneath his beak, "Ah but I know someone who's crazy enough…probably like to stab the chicken first, just to see if there's any blood left in it he can watch spill out.", his comment almost making Isley gag on her stew in fits of giggles.

"And who's that suppose to be a snap at?" Harley pouted toward her beaked associate.

"Oh this shouldn't be too hard…here's a lil'hint Harls…bad hair, bad skin, and just plain out no style…", Dent chuckled to himself as he watched the tiny blonds face turn from pretty pink to a contorted red. Though, as they laughed and mocked, a cold breeze flew in the cafeteria double doors.

"Now, now Harvey…it's not nice to make fun of Edward like that…not to his face at least…" a deep resonating voice cooed from over Mr. Dent's shoulder. As he turned to his left, his good eye came in contact with a sneering, ruby edged grin. Joker was being held back by two guards, each one holding him by an arm. His legs and arms were chained together, with his hands covered with cotton bags. His hair, with the 3 month long pomade neglect, had regained its natural wavy form and lay shaggy above his brow and temples. Hurriedly, they sat him next to Harley, and retreated back to the entrance.

"Aaaah…meat and taters, nice…glad to know the cooks are trying their best to make us feel at home eh? Hey, Harls, mind stabbing the chicken a bit? I just wanna see if I can make it bleeeeeeed! HEHEHEHEHE!" the Joker snapped his head back as he giggled loudly.

"Heard that comment, huh?" Dent asked as he raised a cup of decaf Diet coke to his 2-sided lips.

"Oh there wasn't a word I didn't hear Harvey D., you might say it's like I have…a 2-set-radio hooked up to you guys…hehehehehe!!!" Joker continued to laugh at his own jokes as the rest of the table just stared. The only other person who seemed to be laughing was Mr. Nigma, who had contently stayed nonchalant.

"Hey, Eddy, why you so quiet? Minotaur got your tongue?" Harley cooed towards their slender friend.

"Heh, I just find the fact that you wont have much to laugh about anymore, Joker…not once they get you back to the Norm.", Edward chuckled as he slurped his stew. Joker, confused and angered by the fact that Eddy just did an "I know something you don't, nyah nyah!" on him, leaned towards Ed and sneered.

"What're you talking about Mystery Man?" Joker said his voice deeply toned and serious. Mr. Nigma looked up from his stew, whipped his mouth with a kerchief, and folded his arms across the table and leaned toward Joker.

"I'm saying, your case is getting bumped up to the upstairs, kid, your gonna become their lil'guinea pig sooner than you'd like to think, and its all being funded by Wayne Industries. Pack your bags funny man, your gonna find yourself in a hellhole worst than this place before you can pull your next pun".


	2. rehabilitation

ONCE AGAIN, I do not own batman or any of its related characters (cept. characters such as Dr. Breck, he's mine, miiiiine I say…) ahem , Anywhosits:

ON WIF PART TWO!!!

…………………………………….

The night was a restless one for Joker. Earlier that day, what Edward said…what did he mean by that…were they going to perform some more tests on him? Electric shock therapy? They had tried that on him before, Hell he had the scars on his arms to prove it. Solitary confinement? Tried that too, all it did was give him more time to think and plan, it was actually quite enjoyable. More pills to shove down his throat, more toxins, and liquids, antidotes to funnel into his mouth or injections to perforate into his skin? Perhaps….but he would survive it, he would trudge through it, he was strong, he was wise, and he would overcome.

The next morning, no one came to wake him at 5 am like usual. Instead, oddly, he found himself waking with the suns rays dancing on his face. Getting up, he looked at the clock on his cell wall; 9:00 am. Thinking, hoping perhaps, there was another breakout-slaughter in Arkham, he went to peek through his doors peep hole. His guard was gone, yes, but Croc's (who was right across the hall from him) was not. Joker leaned so far into his peep hole, looking for any sign of anything unusual, that his hooked nose literally poked right out the hole…startling him when his cell door abruptly opened.

"HEY! KNOCK...ooooo…" Joker caught himself in mid-scream when he saw Arkham Jr. and several guards behind the door way, "Lemme guess," Joker said with a cocky tone, "They're coming to take me away?"

"Heh, clever Mr. Joker…no, actually, its time for your check up," Arkham turned aside to let the guards grab a hold of his wrist chains and arms. Down the hall he was lead, past the rest of his collogues cells and a few of the less deranged, who gawked at him as though he was Satan himself.

The further they went down the hall, the lighter and friendlier things seemed. The walls colors were fresher and brighter, there were also more people, some in suits, some in casual clothes, more nurses and doctors than were he was kept. And, of course, more stares and whispers of "_that's him…that's the joker!"_ which, of course, only made his smile bigger and more smug. At last, they came to a door with bronze letters that said "anatomical lab".

"Ooooo…shnazzy", Joker cooed as the guards lead him in to the room. It was vast; the walls were a brilliant baby blue, the floors of course covered with a creamy tile, and all around were vials, burners, books, cabinets, charts, syringes and the like. It looked much like a normal doctor's office, only with a slight difference. In the far off corner, there was what looked like, a cubicle. On one side was a door with a padlock, aside from that, there appeared no other entrance. Then, there on the left side of the room next to the examination bed, was Dr. Breck.

"Please please gentlemen, take those chains off Mr. Napier, he's not an animal is he?" Breck gestured to the guards, who then began to take the clasps off Joker. After that, they awaited Breck's dismissal, and with that, they left. Then, it was just two.

"Some might have a contradiction with ya Doc., im not exactly the most loved creature in this building ya know." Joker said placing his hands on his sides.

"Ah yes, but in this case, let's put that aside Mr. Napier"

"Put aside the fact that at this very moment I could disembowel you with the tweezers on the counter over there and no one would stop me?"

"In such care, Mr. Napier, the camera's above your head and mine would catch it, aside from that there's also the flock of people out there in your way…would you kill them all with your bare hands?"

"I could try….Nothing wrong with effort is there?"

"I hardly see you trying such a foolish act Mr. Napier…."

"AH! But that's what I am, isn't it? A Fool?" Joker then hoped up on the examination bed, "Besides your right, must've spent all night going over my Box o'thoughts to come to that conclusion, huh Doc.?" Joker then proceeded with his usual fit of giggles and multiple childish kicks in the air.

"Interesting you know about your own file Mr. Napier…" Breck concluded. The joker then turned to Breck, the smile turned into an irritated sneer.

"Would you quit calling me by that name? It's not my name!" He said while pounding his fist into the bed as Breck was picking up a chart.

"Jack Napier is not your name?" Breck replied, scribbling on the pad. Joker turned his attention from Breck to the clipboard, then back again.

"No…its not…Hell I don't even know what it is…doesn't your lil'handy dandy note book have that written down somewhere?" Joker questioned while leaning back against the wall near the bed.

"Ah yes…yes I clearly forgot…I apologize Mr.…well, Mr. Joker. Now, if you could please change from your cell clothes into the nightgown please? I need to run a few tests on you…" Breck, his attention completely focused on his clip board. Joker raised an eyebrow at Breck, who was not paying attention to Joker's clever expression.

"You expect me to get down to my skivvies with you looking in my direction? I may be crazed, but a man deserves his privacy!!" Joker turned the gown away.

"Very well….just remember, the cameras will be watching you…don't try anything…'funny;" Breck finished while turning his back. Joker looked up to the cameras as he went for the gown.

"Ooooo, you naughty boys", Joker cooed as he looked slyly at the camera, his shirt removed and his index finger wagging at his audience. Breck really didn't want Joker out of his cell clothes for medical purposes, mostly just for his own sanitary intention…they reeked. The cells were rarely washed, especially the special wards. For some unknown reason, the guards and nurses were afraid to clean them…most likely more afraid of the inmates inside them then the rooms themselves…who knows.

Breck turned around to the now gown-cloaked joker, sitting patiently on the bed, twiddling his thumbs like a child, his overgrown hair nearly covering his eyes.

"Ah, good, now please, go stand over there on the scale." Joker literally hoped off the bed and waltzed over to the scale, strangely obediently. Height: 6'5, weight: 182. Breck scribbled all this on his pad.

"Seems you've lost quite a bit of weight since your last appointment, Mr. Joker" Breck commented.

"Must be that Adkins diet Doc, works a peach!" Joker winked at Breck with a smug grin. Breck continued to scribble in his pad, until he felt a tug on the board. He looked up and soon found himself hovering inches above the floor, Joker had his by the collar, his eyes searing into Breck's like hot coals.

"Listen, I know this isn't my usual health check up Doc…something's going on upstairs…now spill or I will gut you…only reason I'm being nice to you is cuz I like you, you remind me of a Doc. who use to work here…nice gal by the way, but I digress…why this, and why now?", mere seconds later, the previous guards barged into the room, and restrained Joker onto the bed. Breck straightened his coat and walked over to Joker, who was now thrashing about to get loose.

"Just a rehabilitation experiment Mr. Joker…I was hoping for this to all be a comfortable, casual experience for you…but apparently you've taken that kindness for granted…now please…guards, hold him steady" Breck went into his coat pocket and took out an empty syringe, "This'll only take a moment."

One of the guards took hold of Joker's chalk white left arm and tightly held it out for Breck. With the pressure from the guards hand tightly wrapped around Joker's bicep, Breck quickly drew some of his blood from an eager vein. Done, Breck retreated to the back of the room, while the guards kept Joker's straining and rebelling body held to the table.

"Would you so kindly show Mr. Joker to his new room gentlemen?" Breck said, his back turned from the action taking place behind him. Hurriedly, the guards picked up Joker by his arms and began tugging him towards the cubicle in the corner of the room.

"Wait…DON'T PUT ME IN THERE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" Joker screamed as the guards shoved him in the small room.

"Progress, Mr. Joker, I'm simply hoping for progress" Breck replied, and with that….Joker fell into darkness.

………………………………………………………………


	3. phase one chemical peel

Wow….I nearly forgot all about this! Im sorry you guys, lol. Forgive meh? …I have cake.

Anywho…it's been awhile…so im sorry if this come out like crap, but I couldn't let mah Mistah J just hang there in my story vault…so…ENJOY!

All Batman Characters and the like are (c.) DC.

All other characters are (c.) to me, Verrucktteufel. You take without permission or dues, I will hunt you down and feed you to my rats….kay? XD

And with that….we begin….

* * *

Darkness…all around him was darkness. Feeling around the cubicle, he pressed against something soft and downy, feeling along it he came to the conclusion it was a bed of sorts. Too short for his entire form, it did however prove to be soft and slightly comfortable. The rest of the day seemed to ooze through the intertwining mesh fencing of time like a thick paste. Mr. Napier, "Joker", continued to stare at the ceiling, locking his gaze at a single crack in the ceiling of his little box, contemplating on the crack, muddling over and over to himself about meager things, playing with a frayed string at the end of his hospital gown (they had yet given him proper attire).

How long had he been in there? It felt like days…his stomach roared rebelliously toward him…once again, he was neglecting his machine. His back was beginning to ache tremendously, any position he laid in was not appropriate for his long figure, and was indeed a great strain on him. Little did he think about Dr. Breck, even though he was the sole reason he was cramped in this tiny hamster cage. For the first time ever, he was a bit unnerved, nay, afraid even. I suppose one would have to be afraid of the unknown, but he? Be afraid? Now that was a joke worth laughing over, indeed! He chuckled softly; his stomach was beginning to growl ferociously toward him.

Then, by some slight coincidence, a small slit in the door beside him opened wide, and inward was thrust a lunch tray. On it laid a full course meal: Real chicken, grilled, lightly seasoned, with potatoes and other delights. Joker licked his lips greedily at the meal and eagerly, without a second thought, went for it. Little did he acknowledge the syringe poking through the slit as well as the meal, this was their intension. As Joker went for the meal, the needle struck his upper arm and had pumped some unknown substance into him.

"ACK," Joker quickly retracted, dropping the plate onto the floor, and rubbing the slightly dripping new wound on his arm, "What is the DEAL?" He screeched. From behind the steel door, a familiar voice called back.

"So sorry Mr. Joker, but you have to understand, this is all for the best you know" Dr. Breck called back through the tiny opening in the door. Confined and annoyed, Joker flung the tray at the steel door, cursing and screaming with all the pent up irritation one would have in such a position. But this was all to no avail, for what would it solve? Beaten, Joker was finally at the mercy of someone…and a mere pest of a human at that.

…………..

_"Incredible, simply astounding, no doubt about that…yes…mmhmm…yes yes…" _

It was late in the Arkham bio labs; obsessing over the Joker's blood samples from the previous night, Dr. Breck gawked and grew more and more fascinated over his white-skinned "pet". This had no longer become a civic duty for the fair people of Gotham, but a quest for the improvement of everyone and thing.

The test results had come back from the lab mere hours after he had sent them. Skin samples, hair samples, blood samples, and even one of the Joker's own tainted fingernail clippings had all come back, each bearing the same basic code, but also each holding something different. Breck couldn't pinpoint the reason for this, but each sample had toxic residue imprinted into it, as though the Joker himself was a walking, talking Chem. Lab! Such residues should have been washed away years ago, or if not…Joker shouldn't even be alive. But he was, and Breck wanted to know why.

If his skin proved to have some kind of immunity to the smorgasbord of chemicals that altered his appearance ((maybe even mind)), and yet still thrive in the condition that they are in…there may actually be a reason to all those times he's been reported dead and lived…all those escapes he's managed unscathed…perhaps even more.

……….

_Light…so much light! First they kept him in eternal darkness, and now it's too bright! Gotta tell'm to turn it down…but I can't speak. My voice, its not there anymore…at least, it feels that way. I want to speak, but there's no blasted noise. Oh well, I'll just turn it down myse…I can't move either. My hands, they're strapped down! My legs too…and im naked! That light is way too bright; I can't even see anything…where's my pants?_

_There's the doc, maybe he can explain all of this…why is he holding another needle? What's in there? Oh no, no more tests! Gotta get away, if I could just break the straps, but im not strong enough, not enough time…nothing to use…_

_I can't feel my neck anymore. I can't even turn my head to see what he's doing now. Noises, the same kind as an electric turbine…or a screaming child; is he going to kill me? Is that what this was all about? I can't feel my legs or arms now…everything feels limp and lifeless._

_He's pricking my arm…I can feel the serum flowing into my veins…perhaps he's putting me down for good now…yes, perhaps that's how the great Joker finally goes…in a lab, put down like a mangy dog…in his birthday suit. Too bad I lost so much weight; I had hoped to leave a handsome autopsy report, Hahahaha!_

_So tired now…time to sleep…yeah…sleep…hope Harls doesn't whine too much at the funeral…._

………

The dilute, which had been injected into Joker's system several hours before, seemed to have been a success. Dr. Breck was halfway finished with the first acidic coating on the Joker's chest; so far the Chemical Peel was running smoothly…no damage, no allergic reactions, and no rapid heart palpitations due to the dilute. He began to slowly remove the first acid sheet from the Joker's upper arm; a nurse, waiting by the respirator, watched with a wide, anticipating stare.

"Well….here we go…" Breck lifted up the sheet…the smell of the chemicals nearly knocking him unconscious; as the fumes dissipated, and his head losing its fuzzy feeling, he looked down on his work.

The skin was a raw, blood red, and bleeding. This was bad. He called the staff attendants, the blood poured over the clean white skin, and dripped onto the cold ER room. He couldn't lose him, no matter how evil this man was…he was too valuable. Gauze was placed, surgeons ready…minutes passed…and it was contained.

A 4x4 square of skin….that was from such a tiny place…Dr. Breck wiped the sweat from his forehead…it was going to be a long night….

……………………

6 months later.

…………………..

Light washed over him, cleansing embracing light; the kind of light that peeks through a child's bedroom window on a Saturday morning, before he rushes to his box of cereal and morning cartoons. Yes, it was this type of sunlight that glistened on Jack Napier's skin…his skin.

Jack woke slowly…rose up slightly, and then fell back onto his downy bed. His body ached, his face, his legs, chest, back, everything. He could barely lift his arm without it stinging horrendously, as if every inch of his body was stung by angry bees. But the light in his room was so bright, he had to lower the shade on the window, less he go blind. Wait, a window? Why was there a window in here? Where was he? The questions flooded him again, but he fought them back. One step at a time….and the first one was lowering the blinds.

He reached for the pull-string, when he suddenly caught a glimpse of his own hand….

The skin…it was no longer chalk white, and his nails were no longer emerald green. They were…normal. His breath stopped; of course the skin was a rubbed-raw red, he could tell there was a tan-pink sleeve of flesh there on his arm, healing itself slowly and proudly readying to be show off. The pain mattered not anymore, as she sat himself up to check his feet and legs, however, vertigo set in and he fell backwards onto the bed once again…

……………………..

The next day, Jack, no longer the notorious Joker in appearance, awoke to find himself in a brightly lit, steel room. A thin sheet of gauze was wrapped around his face, only showing his eyes. He had begun to wish they had covered his eyes…all around he could see doctors and nurses, familiar faces from the Arkham staff, along with Commissioner Gordon, some of the boys in blue and a few stuck up rich suits from the beneficiary department of Gotham…including that playboy, Bruce Wayne. Dr. Breck made his way in front of Jack, dressed in his long white coat, hair greased back as if he were opening for some second-rate downtown show. Perhaps he was…

"Ladies and Gentlemen, It brings me great pleasure and much gratification to unveil to you tonight, the first step of the end of madness and absolute terror in Gotham city!" Breck began, his arms open wide to dramatize the event, "I give you, this evening, the complete first phase of The Jokers rehabilitation process!"

Suddenly, the gauze was snatched from his head. Eyes opened wide, glasses were shattered, gasps emerged, and minds were dumbfounded. The commissioner, one of those who dropped their glass of complimentary wine, only stood there, fixated, before he recalled his ability to speak.

"How can you be sure that…a procedure like this, no matter how advanced, will be beneficial to The Joker?" Gordon called.

Breck smiled and nodded towards Gordon, "The Joker persona that Mr. Napier had created was based purely on his appearance, im certain that altering back to the norm shall be a great step in his full recovery."

Joker could only lay there, strapped to the vertically angled bed, his eyes motioning around. He wanted to speak, but nothing compelled him to…he had no joke, no quirk to throw…

"Oh dear, how rude of me…here, lets show you what the commotion is about…" Breck, with the assistance of a nurse, slowly began to undo his straps. Or were…

"Hold that!" a voice from the middle of the crowd called out, "you can't unleash him!" the voice turned out to belong to the playboy Jack had examined earlier, Mr. Bruce Wayne.

"Are you sure that it's safe? I mean, what you have done is extraordinary, it defies everything that people in your field have thought to be impossible…but this man…no amount of plastic surgery is going to cure him. He's sick." Bruce concluded.

"Mr. Wayne…I don't know whether it's the face that you can't contemplate over the cause of The Joker's condition, or whether you refuse to believe that such a man could be helped…I have found a cure for the sickest, and I shall demonstrate it here tonight!" And with that, Breck released the last strap.

The cold floor sent chills up his spine as he raised himself to his full height, right in front of Mr. Wayne. Silence instilled a familiar cold silence…but it wasn't the same silence. The eyes around him weren't terrified, they were merely shocked…a reaction his was use to, but it wasn't the same. The adrenalin he received from fear was not there…

"Here, Joker…take a look into the mirror…tell us if you like the change…" Breck guided Jack to the mirror on the steel wall.

He looked…and he too was shocked…

Fine black hair wisped behind his ears and over his forehead, strands slightly curled in-between thin black eyebrows, crinkling over his fine, fresh pink skin. It was like looking at a grown baby; the skin was soft, fresh, his own even…he knew it was his. His lips, once a bright crimson red, were merely a soft light pink, pressed together into a normal stoic position. Everything was the same, his nose, his cheekbones, his chin…his face was the same…but the person was different. All except his eyes….those red tinted eyes…burning hellfire, the chaos of his soul…

"Well, Joker…what do you think?" Dr. Breck asked, patting his patient on the shoulder.

"That's Napier….Mr. Jack Napier…Dr. Breck."

* * *

heh...well...lay it on me...but just so you know, this is my universe, kay? 


End file.
